


Disorder

by carefulfear



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Angst, Anxiety, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Cocaine, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Extreme, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know what else to tag, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Joy Division - Freeform, Just a lot of drugs and sadness, Marijuana, Mental Breakdown, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Song Lyrics, Suicide Attempt, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping, broken Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29395035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulfear/pseuds/carefulfear
Summary: Things with Captain Asshole are as unresolved as it possibly could be and he lives in his fucking tower again. The Accords, while pain in everybody’s ass, were eventually resolved and to save face the Avengers were all back in his tower.  Bucky was left in Wakanda and Tony, honestly, didn’t give two fucks about him at this point in time. Too preoccupied with the fact that they’ve all been living together for a month and he has not once joined them for anything, or been invited down for anything. There had been no real conversation with the Captain since almost having the shield pushed in as a new permanent piece to his chest six months prior to the move in. At this point, he’s ready to move out of the country just for some fucking breathing room from the whole situation. He feels tense anywhere else in the tower except for his penthouse and the lab, two floors no one else has access to at all. Everywhere else is too risky, anxiety shoots up and he gets so overwhelmed he could collapse into a panic attack at any moment.Things aren't going good after the civil war. Tony unravels. Completely.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

When was the last time he slept? Tony couldn’t remember anymore. His feet felt heavy and numb, yet he remained in the middle of the dance floor. There were bodies pushed up against him, a woman trying to steal his attention by grinding on him, yet he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were upward, staring at the ceiling in a daze. If anyone he knew in his professional life saw him, they’d see his glossed over eyes and wide pupils and they’d be able to tell that the lights were on but no one was home. The smell of alcohol hangs off of him as he sways gently with the music. This wasn’t the version of Tony Stark many people knew, although they’ve heard of him. The party boy. Taking home a new woman, or a few women, to his penthouse suite in his tower that looked over the great city of New York. He wondered if anyone around him could feel the sadness that felt as if it was crushing him. Was it oozing off of him and onto the innocent people around him that are trying to make their night memorable? 

The loud music combined with the drugs he’s ingested tonight make him feel something more than numbness and they stop the endless thoughts that race through his head when sober. The nightmares and the constant onslaught of fucked up memories made him slip back into the dangerous world of illegal substances. It wasn’t that he was actively choosing to avoid drugs before this, he simply stopped them once he came to be Iron Man. Alcohol was always his safety net, yet it had come second to everything else that was on offer before the superhero appeared in his life. His benders used to be fuelled by cocaine, his weekends kept fun and vibrant with tabs of ecstasy. It was easier to keep himself awake and alert on drugs than drinking all night. With lines of fine white powder, he used to party, work, eat and repeat for days until he questioned whether his heart would explode if he pushed his body any further. Tony never really cared about the risk associated with it though, so sometimes he would willingly push himself into dangerous territory without thinking too hard about it. 

Tony almost wishes he was in his penthouse so he could enjoy the ride that is getting high but he doesn’t want to leave the feeling of people all around him. Nobody wants to know who he is here, nobody cares. They’re lost in their own world and he can enjoy the feeling of being around people and not being needed by anybody. Existing in the middle of chaos. Feeling comfort from strangers. It was hard to admit he was lonely, yet he was. So desperate to feel close to people he’s going to bars and clubs again. Welcoming any warm body into his bed for the night. During the day it was easy, it was him in the lab.  _ Work.  _ Metal and coffee, science and small fires that needed to be extinguished by Dum-E. Nighttime was the difficult part - always has been. What a cliche. The nightmares make him want to stay up, which leads to bouts of insomnia that send him just as loopy as his fucked up dreams. It feels like he’s damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t. There’s a point he’ll get to when he’s been up for so long and worked until his hands are cracked and so dry they’re about to bleed, that he’ll reach for the bottle and drink it straight until his throat burns and he feels like he’s going to vomit it back up instantly. 

It would be easy to stay here and drink until he can’t keep himself upright anymore, but he can tell it’s getting to the point in the morning where last rounds are being called and people are leaving. Tony isn’t ready to stop. It’s easy to detach himself from the woman that had been expecting to go home with him, the music too loud to hear any protest at his hasty removal. He’d go back to the penthouse. There was an array of well, whatever the fuck he wanted because he was  _ Tony Stark,  _ after all, to keep him going until he was so exhausted and messed up that he passed the fuck  _ out.  _ He stopped for one last drink, texting Happy to come and pick him up. That’s what he hoped he typed, the letters blurring together the longer he stared at them. Home is where he could be himself fully. Penthouse means security. Friday watches over him, sassing his terrible life choices but never pushing too hard like Jarvis used to. He wants to be uninhibited. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s cold when the air outside hits his face. The car is there waiting for him, the driver behind the wheel looking worried and unimpressed at the same time. “Boss,” is all he says to Tony, his eyes betraying what was left unsaid. There’s a small part that wants to beg for some help with all of his issues, all of the shit he can’t control or contain. He wants to break down and  _ cry  _ and  _ scream  _ yet he sits there, face void of any emotion at the concern his friend has for him. The other, much larger, part of him knows it’s wasted on him. Believes that this is the way it should be. His nightmares are so terrifying to him because they show him everything he’s done wrong. The destruction he’s caused. Lives lost, gone forever because of mistakes he’s made. From the caves of Afghanistan, the battle of New York, then the Mandarin and Ultron, to the appropriately dubbed ‘Civil War’. So much has happened and he’s only one fucking man, even if he was Iron Man, a  _ superhero _ , it’s all too much. He doesn’t know how to cope with all of it. It’s easier not to, he actually has fun sometimes when he deals with it all his way. It would be too hard to give it all up now. 

Things with Captain Asshole are as unresolved as it possibly could be and he lives in his fucking tower again. The Accords, while pain in everybody’s ass, were eventually resolved and to save face the Avengers were all back in his tower. Bucky was left in Wakanda and Tony, honestly, didn’t give two fucks about him at this point in time. Too preoccupied with the fact that they’ve all been living together for a month and he has not once joined them for anything, or been invited down for anything. There had been no real conversation with the Captain since almost having the shield pushed in as a new permanent piece to his chest six months prior to the move in. At this point, he’s ready to move out of the country just for some fucking breathing room from the whole situation. He feels tense anywhere else in the tower except for his penthouse and the lab, two floors no one else has access to at all. Everywhere else is too risky, anxiety shoots up and he gets so overwhelmed he could collapse into a panic attack at any moment. 

Instead of dealing with any of it, he has his precious cycle. It’s resulted in a month-long bender that only seems to be getting worse as time goes on. Work, go out and get drunk, come home and pass out. Repeat. Some nights are fun, some nights end like this. The quiet ride home forces him to sit in his depression and simmer in it. His head is back against the seat and a sigh escapes his lips. Even when he’s trashed his mind wanders back to the shit going on when he’s idle for too long. There’s nothing to distract him but the scenery of New York that he’s seen too much of lately. He tries to think of nothing. Not a single thing. He’s just a man, senses and emotions numbed so he doesn’t have to feel anything. There are eyes watching him, he can feel it or he’s completely lost the plot but when he does finally opens his eyes,  _ (when did they even close?) _ Happy’s looking at him and the car has stopped. They’re in the garage of the tower now and his driver looks more concerned than before. “I’ve got it under control, Hap,” he manages to get out in a semi-believable tone before throwing the door open to get out. There’s a sigh behind him but Tony doesn’t care. 

He’s alone and living in a tower with an old team that he used to consider more family than his own - that’s fucking hard work. As he gets into his private elevator (less anxiety this way) he’s already thinking about the vintage scotch sitting on his bar waiting for him. There’s no point holding back anymore and there’s nobody to stop him, either. It’s a slippery slope that he feels he’s been falling down for a while now.

  
  


.

.

.

  
  
  


It was a few nights later and he was hammered in the lab, holograms projected all around him while he took his time looking at each one. Tony had been working for over twelve hours straight now and the lines of the holograms were starting to blur and duplicate so he knew he’d need a power nap if he wanted to make real progress on anything in the lab, considering he had almost finished two bottles of whiskey in the last few hours. He wasn’t even ready for actual thinking right now. Instead, he was waiting to find the willpower to get up and find another bottle of alcohol. Probably an expensive and smooth vodka he could shot as he saw fit. If he wasn’t careful he’d blackout in the fucking lab, though. It would be a lie to say he was coping with Roger’s presence in the tower. With  _ everyone's. _ The more days that passed the harder it was to keep his mind off it, to feel his presence on the floors beneath him. To know that they were all down there as friends, as a team, while he was left to his own devices - something they should’ve known could be dangerous. It showed him how much he meant to them and he was glad he knew the truth before he let them any further into his life than he already had.

“Friday, is there any Beluga? If not, order it.” He tried his best not to sound too drunk, not wanting any judgement from the AI like he used to receive from J. Sometimes it’s easier not to think about him. The real him, or the intelligence. Both were the best parts of Tony’s childhood and adulthood. It was hard to stop himself from comparing the two of them when he’s in moods like this. 

“There’s a bottle in the bar fridge and on the bar on the communal level, boss.” Friday’s cool tone replied and Tony rolled his eyes. Of course. 

He was drunk enough to go up there without a panic attack, only if he was a hundred per cent alone. “Is there anyone else up there?” He waved off the holograms, deciding on getting the vodka or going out instead. Happy would look disappointed,  _ again.  _ Tony didn’t care enough to do anything about it. 

“Boss, it is almost one o’clock in the morning. Tuesday morning. Everyone else is in bed.” Friday’s voice remained neutral, although the sarcasm was clear. He rolled his eyes and decided to quickly fetch the vodka himself. It’s late, the floor was empty. He’d grab whatever else he wanted while he went up there. Drunk Tony could do this for sober Tony. 

It was easy to ignore how he felt a bit hot, flustered, as he made his way to his elevator, not needing to say where he was going when the doors closed. This was his home. His building. He was allowed to go on any level he wanted to, whenever he wanted to and that shouldn’t be a problem. The trip was a short one and when the doors opened silently, he walked out hesitantly. Unsure of himself. Nothing had changed, really, in his absence as he walked through the open plan and straight to the bar in the corner. He ignored how the couch looked messy, evidence of people gathered. Pillows piled on the floor as if someone was lying there earlier. 

Once he was behind the bar, he didn’t hesitate to pull the bottle out of the bar fridge and open it. Drinking chilled vodka was so much easier, the burn was subtle since it was so cold. He took two big mouthfuls, swallowing easily before he put the lid on it and grabbed the other bottle on the bench. And the bottle of Don Julio. Screw it. If he was going to binge, he was going to  _ really  _ binge. He carried the bottles in his arms, aware of how this could end if he isn’t very careful with the expensive alcohol. 

All he had to do was make it back to the elevators. Instead, he turned to see none other than the Captain himself. He stood across from Tony in his pajamas, puffing slightly with his hair everywhere. Tony’s grip tightened on the bottles and he stopped breathing. “Tony,” the man across from he breathed and Tony refused to say his name. Out-loud or internally. When the silence stretched between them, he spoke again. “I asked Friday to tell me when you’d come here,” Capsicle said, sounding more composed and serious. Tony rolled his eyes. Of course. It was hard not to compare to two because they were  _ so  _ fucking similar. 

The drunken engineer could feel the other man's eyes search his face and the bottles in his arms and he wanted to yell. To hurt, like he had been hurt. Deeply and painfully,  _ so fucking painfully.  _ “I’m not doing this with you right now. Thanks, but no thanks,” he definitely had a slur to his words but he tried to pull himself together, every part of his body was on edge. 

“You’re never here anymore, Tony. We have to talk at some point, serious-” Tony almost saw red, unable to help himself from snapping as he felt the alcohol and adrenaline at being face to face with the man who smashed not only his shield but everything else in his life to pieces.

In his drunken anger, he raised his voice. “I’m here too much, actually! Just because I don’t come down here to act like a happy family  _ doesn’t mean I’m not in my fucking tower, Steve!”  _ He couldn’t help the anger that he was feeling, it flooded him. The alcohol only made it worse. He threw the bottle of tequila towards the Captain, watching it crash and shatter at his feet, the amber liquid wetting the man's feet as it spread across the floor. “Fuck. Fuck! Fuck all of this, fuck you,” Tony spat bitterly, trying his best to rush past the super soldier and into the elevator which had its doors open and waiting. “Penthouse. No one comes in or out, except me.” Even intoxicated, his tone gave a serious warning to Friday to follow what he says. 

Suddenly he didn’t want the vodka anymore. It felt tainted, yet he waited until the elevator doors opened and he could dump them on his kitchen bench. He’d deal with them later. Maybe when he didn’t feel so fucking emotional he’d want to drink them. Maybe he’ll get so drunk later he’ll forget why he’s emotional and drink them. You never know when he actively tries to get fucked up, which is exactly what he feels like doing. There he goes again, burying his feelings with self-destruction. He feels like such a cliche yet  _ again  _ and it makes him laugh, his head tipping back as he lets the anger and rage at the situation wash over him. It’ll turn to sadness eventually - it always does. “Friday, play Disorder at full volume,” Tony mumbled to the AI, not forgetting the betrayal from moments ago. 

  
  


_ I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand _

_ Could these sensations make me feel the pleasures of a normal man? _

  
  


The song was his favourite when everything started slipping. That was the best way to describe what was happening with him right now because of that encounter downstairs. Everything is slipping out of his reach, out of his grasp faster than he can handle it and it’s happening whether he wants it to or not. He knows he didn’t help things down there but how  _ dare  _ Rogers says he isn’t  _ here _ , this tower feels like a prison he designed for himself unknowingly. Why should he be the one to go and seek them out after what was done to him? Is Tony losing his mind here? There have been no apologies, no face to face interaction since that cold fucking night, far away. Months ago, now. Tony thought the Captain understood that time didn’t always heal wounds. Sometimes it deepened them. He's slipping. Slipping further into himself, further and further into bad habits that temporarily fill the void inside him. 

  
  


_ It's getting faster, moving faster now _

_ It's getting out of hand _

  
  


He was alone. Music blaring. It felt seamless as he walked to the bar, much more luxurious and familiar than the one below him. There was a box stashed along the bench. Hidden in plain sight, since no one is up here to go snooping anyway. It’s a smooth rich wood, stained dark. Sleek and simple. Its contents were for moments like this. To help forget, to push himself out of his body and into a state where it was easier to exist. The only safety net he’s known and he comes back to it every time. Hard not to when it’s irresistible - the promise of artificial happiness and peace. Slowly, he opens the lid. He’s slightly swaying on his feet, the vodka from earlier keeping his body feeling warm and tingly. Inside, on the velvet that feels  _ so _ soft under his fingers, lay a few things. His packet of Marlboros sits on top of a few little baggies, mainly of cocaine. There’s also a small bottle of valium tucked next to the cigarettes and he couldn’t help but grab it and tip two into his palm. 

  
  


_ On the tenth floor, down the back stairs _

_ It's a no man's land _

  
  


It was easy to swallow them, grabbing a bottle of whatever alcohol was closest to make sure they went down smoothly. Then it was waiting for everything to blur together and dissolve into blackness. He indulged himself and pulled out a cigarette and the lighter tucket inside the box. Before he shut the lid he bought the cigarette between his lips and lit it up, the movements natural to him even though he goes such long stretches without it. Watching the smoke dance across the low lights that hung above him was mesmerising. Tony let himself feel the music that filled the empty space around him. 

  
  


_ Lights are flashing, cars are crashing _

_ Getting frequent now _

  
  


The cigarette burned between his fingers while he nodded along to the music slowly, sloppily. His head wouldn’t feel so fucking heavy and he’d be able to sleep, hopefully dreamlessly. He needs uninterrupted sleep. There goes his chance to go out and enjoy himself for the night. He couldn’t leave now, already too wasted to get into half the places he usually likes to go and they let a lot slide for him. Being famous can do that. They want his money, just like everyone else. Rules can be bent depending on how much you have to bribe with. If he wants to sneak drugs into clubs, keep it open an hour later than it should be, he can organise that. People can be bought and it allows him to keep his own personal shit show going, so why not? 

  
  


_ I've got the spirit, lose the feeling _

_ Let it out somehow _

  
  


He almost forgets about the lit cigarette he’s holding, the ash falling all over the marble countertop. All he can do is stare at it numbly, taking one last deep inhale before he stamps out the smoke right next to all the ash. It’s expensive marble, it can take a bit of shit and at this point, he doesn’t care. There’s no Pepper to scold him. She has a company to run and Tony has purposely kept her at arm's length since they broke up after the Mandarin - she dumped him, he saw it coming. Things were never the same, ruined because of the stupidly reckless way he handled the whole situation so he can only blame himself for being alone. It makes the nights so much colder. He stood there, swaying and nodding along to the song that was too loud for this time of the night but was on repeat anyway, so he didn't care. Friday knew him well, even if she did betray him. 

  
  


_ Who is right? Who can tell? _

_ And who gives a damn right now? _

  
  


That was hard to comprehend right now and he didn’t know how to handle it. Jarvis used to do similar things but he thought it would've taken Friday years to learn the sarcasm and protectiveness that her predecessor had within him, even if he wasn't meant to have artificial intelligence. They were both meant to be robotic. No emotions behind their commands. She chose to cross that line, go behind his back and alert Rogers. Things like that shouldn't be happening,  _ it's his tower.  _ He feels like he's said that a hundred times to himself lately. It's his tower, yet he's trapped himself on one floor of it. "Boss, Bruce Banner is requesting access." It sounded like Friday didn't even want to address him, picking up on the mood he's radiating. 

"Denied." Tony slurred, deciding it was time to lay on the couch. Everything was getting progressively more blurred around him. He felt the valium take away all of his pressing concerns, melting them down into nothingness. When he went to sit down on his spacious couch, he fucking  _ missed  _ and landed on his ass on the floor. “What the  _ fuck,  _ Stark,” he mumbled to himself before he fell backwards onto the floor with a thud, everything going black instantly. 

  
  


.

.

.

  
  
  


Before he could even open his eyes to see where the fuck he was he felt his head pounding. The unsteadiness of his stomach is what made him open his eyes, squinting against the light, and move before he wanted to. He had to force his legs to _hurry up and_ _move_ as he ran from the lounge and through his bedroom and into his bathroom, head in the toilet as soon as he could manage. It was horrible, and he felt worse than he has been drinking for a long time as he bought up whatever was left in his stomach. Alcohol and bile, basically. His head felt like it was splitting open from the light and movement before he was ready for it. Everything ached uncomfortably and Tony hated it. He was getting too old for this shit. Eventually, he’d have to be in a constant state of drunk or he’d have to stop drinking in such excess. There’s a rather large part of him that never wanted to become this. It reminded him too much of his father, who seemed forever drunk or on the way to drunk. Always. It led to arguments between his father and mother, to arguing with his dad himself, to getting hit by his dad during said arguments. So, he started drinking at a young age to cope with it and look where it's gotten him. 

Eventually, there was nothing left to come up even though he wished he could puke one more time, just to ease the nausea he was feeling. Seeing as he was already in the bathroom, Tony decided that he would undress and crawl into the shower. Maybe he’d leave feeling slightly more human. At least it’d be warm and he can take as long as he likes. It’s challenging to force himself in there but he pushes through, knowing that once he’s in and under the stream he won’t want to leave. “Friday, turn down the lights. By a lot. How long was I out?”

The room around him dimmed while he positioned himself on the floor on the shower, the warm water washing over him, grounding him. “You were on the lounge room floor for nine hours and twelve minutes. Your vitals were unsteady, yet I’m still unable to call for help unless they become life-threatening.” She sounded disappointed in him.  _ Join the line _ _ ,  _ he thought to himself. Nine hours of sleep is the most he’s gotten in a long time and while he wants to celebrate, this almost isn’t worth it. Sick, unable to eat for god knows how long and probably unable to drink for at least another day or two. Meaning he’d be awake until he could stomach to get this fucked up again, probably. 

“That’s the way it’s going to stay, Friday. I swear to the big one-eyed dickhead of a god up in Asgard if you go behind my back I’ll sell you to a community college,” Tony was half-joking, half-serious. He was scolding her even though it felt bad too since it comes from a place of wanting to help her creator. He doesn’t want the help, though. Never wanted it.

“Boss, I must remind you that you’re continually damaging your health on a level that is very worrying-” Friday was almost pleading with him when he cut her off to mutter the next words, embracing the silence that would come with the command.

“Mute. And disable all overrides, protocol seventeen twelve.” 


	2. Chapter 2

When he emerged from the bedroom, feet unsteady and his head dulled down to a mild throbbing, he went straight to his box on the bar and grabbed another cigarette. He’d have to go out and buy more soon. His eye scanned the rest of the box and its contents, lingering on the baggies under the cigarette packet that was in his hands. They promised to help make him feel better. Ease the suffering of his hangover and give him the energy to feel like himself again. It was temptation staring right at him, looking more and more inviting as each moment passed. Staring into the box he bought the cigarette to his lips, lighting it with ease as he inhaled. Inside, he wondered if this was too much for him to handle again. Should he call Rhodey, beg him to come and look after him? Ask him to sleep next to him like a child afraid to leave their parent? The worst part is that the other man, his best friend for decades, would do it for him.  _ Has  _ done it for him in the past. It’s only a temporary fix. Tony would get some sleep for a week, maybe two. He’d eat three meals a day with his buddy and work together in the lab - even though Rhodey couldn’t keep up with the science. 

Eventually, Tony knew Rhodey would have to go and as much as he would try his best to keep up the healthy routine they’d worked to get him back on, it would unravel again. It always did and Tony wasn’t ready to dive headfirst into  _ actually _ fixing himself because he didn’t think he’d ever be fixed and normal again. There’d never be a normal again. Aliens, wormholes, robots that sound like family, witches with red magic that mess with minds. There were galaxies. Worlds that hold different life, species,  _ everything.  _ So much to learn and take in yet it’s so overwhelming, it chokes him up with anxiety and  _ terror _ every time he thinks about too much. Like he’s doing right now as he finishes the cigarette he’s inhaled too quickly. 

With Friday on mute, the protocols from earlier mean that she’ll operate for everyone else normally and inform them that he’s unavailable. Nobody will be able to get up here or enter the lab without his permission and she’s totally mute on his level. She’s monitoring his vitals and is only allowed to call for help if he asks for it. The small talk with Friday about nothing used to get his mind to stop spiralling though and now, in the silence, he feels helpless to it. There’s no comfort from his creation anymore. His breathing quickened slightly and he hunched over, closer to the cool marble of the bar counter. Closer to the box of temptation and recklessness. Closer to an escape from everything. His mind wouldn’t stop sending him back to the wormhole, to Pepper falling into a pit of fire, Rhodey falling out of the sky, Obadiah falling into the reactor.  _ Too much, too much of everything.  _

He didn’t think when he tipped the wooden box over, needing to see  _ all  _ of the contents to see what could get him under control. Without hesitation he went for more valium, tipping three into his palm this time since he wasn’t drunk. It would help turn his brain to mush he reasoned with himself. Something about knowing relief was on the way made him feel slightly more relaxed already. All he wanted was for the constant stream of thinking to stop. Looking at everything, the bags of different drugs, the bottles of valium and Xanax, his cigarettes and two perfectly rolled joints, he didn’t know how to feel. He should feel ashamed that he feeds this side of himself so readily, but here he is. Relying heavily on a safety net that is questionable at best. Instead of reaching for something too hardcore for this time of the day, even though he wasn’t sure what the time just that it was still daytime outside, he went for a joint. 

It was good quality weed, he had the money for the best obviously. Tony remembers the first time he tried it in university. Back then, he didn’t want to suppress himself and make it harder to think and work. It dulled him too much, whereas now he enjoys that. Revels in being unable to think properly and focus on everything going on. Young Tony escaped from his problems through working and he misses inventing like he used to back then. With passion and love. Bringing his robots to life for the first time and making his first artificial intelligence. Those moments were special and were full of life. Howard tried his best to ruin his inventions when he was growing up but it pushed Tony into the world of science and engineering even more, just like the drinking did. Then the drugs. It makes him cough, the first inhale. The burn-in his lungs feels different than the cigarette. Tastes nicer too. 

There’s less guilt in choosing the lesser drugs. It’s easier than admitting he gets lost in how many bumps of coke he can handle, thinking back to the night at the club a few weeks ago? Days? The passage of time is blurry. People finding out he smokes weed occasionally is  _ nothing  _ compared to that. First of all, it’s legal almost everywhere in America. Secondly, people don’t go to rehab for smoking it. Tony has never had an issue stopping it since it was never his favourite or go to. So, he lets himself enjoy it. Takes his joint and lighter out onto his balcony, sitting down past the landing strip for the suit so he can let his feet dangle off the edge. The sun was setting across New York. It was beautiful. All Tony could think of was how the colours blended together so seamlessly and he kept going steady with his joint, the subtle numbness in his legs an indicator that he was already feeling it. 

As he looks down at the world beneath him, the cars moving slowly through the seemingly endless traffic and people scattered throughout the streets, he thinks about how it would feel to slip off the edge and fall towards the busy city. The thought makes him want to laugh and he can’t help but tip his head back and let out the drug-induced fit of laughter. It would be an easy end to it all if he knew his suit wouldn’t catch him before he could hit the ground. They would blame the combination of shit he was on, it’d be ruled an accident and he wouldn’t be a burden on  _ anyone  _ anymore. Team Cap would feel guilty but that thought makes him laugh harder and he wonders if he looks like a crazy person from down below. He was buzzed, well and truly, and he didn’t care about much of anything right now. It was so much easier to relax like this. Turn everything off and sit in the moment. His brain felt too slow to keep up with anything now but he was determined to finish the joint in one sitting.  _ Fuck it,  _ he thought. 

It was just him and the sunset as he continued to push through it, his eyes feeling sore and his whole body was a bit tingly which made him laugh. He sat there and watched as the sky began to darken, the barely their wind wasn’t too cold so he was comfortable on the balcony’s edge alone. Alone until the sky is almost fully black, then he hears a throat clear behind him and he almost does fall off the fucking edge as he tried to whip around and see who’s up here and why. His reaction was delayed slightly from the pot. Peter stood in the middle of the landing strip for his suit. The boy was in his own suit, the white of his suit's eyes staring at him and he tried to discreetly drop the tiny remainder of his joint off the edge. Dispose of the remaining evidence, although Peter could probably smell it in the air and see it on his face. “Mr Stark, I tried to alert Friday that I was coming but all she would say was that you were unavailable. What’s going on? Are you  _ stoned  _ right now?!” Peter’s voice was laced with worry and Tony curses under his breath because his favourite teenager has the ability to scale tall buildings and roam throughout the city so easily. Should’ve realised he would’ve been sought out eventually. Why did he want to smoke outside anyway? He should’ve known better. 

“Hey, Pete, I’m just out here getting some fresh air, that’s all.” Tony tried his best to play it natural and cool, even though he felt like he needed to lay on the couch and melt into it right now. “Friday’s just being such a bitch right now,” he tried to stop himself from laughing at his own remark but instead he let slip a small  _ giggle  _ and he knew he was too far gone to try and hide it from the kid as his spider eyes got even wider, if possible. “Okay, okay, I might have been smoking a little. So what? I’m an adult. Helps with anxiety and stuff, which I have a lot of. You know.” He couldn’t help the rambling, unable to shut his mouth properly. “Why are you here? Don’t you have a bedtime, a curfew,  _ something _ ?” 

Before the boy in front of him responded, he pulled his mask off to reveal his scruffy brown hair and his worried brown eyes wide, staring at his mentor. Father figure. Tony wanted to cringe but found he couldn’t. He just stared back at the boy he cared for so much and he wanted to hug him and cry, sob out all of the shit that’s stuck inside him and his head. Instead, he waited for a response and ignored the paranoia that was starting to creep into his thoughts. 

“Everyone’s worried about you. I haven’t seen you sober in weeks, I just don’t even  _ see  _ you anymore! Now you’re doing drugs, Mr Stark,  _ Tony,  _ please, talk to me! Talk to Pepper! She’s worried too.” There was desperation in his voice, his eyes glassy as he twisted the mask together in his hands. 

Guilt washed over him now, and shame at being caught by a teenager even if he was seventeen now and probably had friends that smoked pot. It wasn’t what he should be doing as a ‘responsible’ adult, which Peter saw him as. Mainly. His mouth was dry as he tried to get his brain to think of an answer that  _ didn’t  _ sound completely stupid. To buy himself some time he made himself stand up, ignoring how his legs protested as he somehow managed not to fall off the balcony which seemed to relieve a tiny bit of worry from Peter’s eyes. The teen was still staring at him, watching his face and movements. 

“Look, kid, I’m fine. This is nothing new for me. We’re hardly going to classify one joint as something so terrible, okay? Isn’t it better than getting black-out drunk? I’m having  _ me _ time. Going to watch a movie, have an early night. Did they ask you to swing up here and talk to me, Peter? Because I know Steve told Bruce what happened, since he tried to gain access last night, so if they ask you to come and talk to me, just go. I’m doing fine. We’ll work on some upgrades with your suit in the next week or so, okay? How’s that sound? Anyway, Peter, it’s getting late, I’m old, gotta get ready to snooze, you know.” The lies were tumbling out before he thought twice about it, both of them knowing they were lies. “Pepper shouldn’t be worried, she left me,” Tony snorted at the last past as he walked past a shocked Peter and back into the safety of the penthouse, out of breath from anxiety and rambling. His head was spinning as he locked the glass door behind him. Peter would be able to hear the lock click and he saw the boy turn towards the door the second it happened. “I’m sorry, Pete, I’m not good company right now. I’ll be fine, please don’t worry.” 

That must’ve sounded sadder than Tony wanted to since Peter looked heartbroken, moving towards the door regardless and Tony could feel himself coming apart. “I just want to help, Mr Stark,” now he was stuck at the door, hand halfway between the door and his side. Peter was young but smart, so smart it made the engineer feel so _ delighted _ and excited to see where he was going to go. The boy looking at him with worry and pity knew so much about him and here he was facing a different side yet again. High, reckless, full of self-hatred and guilt. He thought about the contents of the box spilled across his bar. Something the kid didn’t need to see. Couldn’t see it. There was no way he could let him in, not now, not unless he wants to corrupt him. Tony couldn’t do that, wouldn’t ever forgive himself. 

He dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Sorry, Peter,” he mumbled and he watched Spiderman crumble. Hurt flashed across his face and it stung Tony to know he’s the one doing this, but he had to. There would be even more damage done if he knew the full extent and Tony was too far gone into this life to let it go now. Instead, he forced himself to turn away from the door and walk to his bedroom, eyes focused straight ahead because he refused to check if those brown eyes were still watching him stumble away.

It’s dark in his room and that’s comforting in the moment, locking the door behind him now because he’s worried someone else will rock up and kick the door down- Rhodey would. He’s starting to feel claustrophobic in his fucking  _ tower,  _ breathing heavily as he tries to calm himself down. That whole situation was upsetting and he didn’t know what to do now. His head was starting to spin, the valium not helping his current situation. Instead of doing anything stupid to himself, he laid on his bed in the dark, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to level his breathing. Tried to think of anything other than Steve, Peter and the  _ worry _ in his eyes. He thinks about how he hasn’t tried to kill himself in decades, doesn’t feel like he should. He feels like he deserves the pain and death would be taking the easy way out of facing all of his mistakes. So, he lived through it. Let it destroy him because that’s how it should be. Someone has to pay and he’ll pay for it.

Eventually, slowly, his breathing became manageable. It was getting easier to breathe and with that, he sat up, the room still dark and no way to tell how much time had passed. Maybe it was time to get out of the tower, the suffocation that it brings was beginning to become too much for him to escape these days. Too much pent up anxiety between these walls. It’d be easier to stop thinking about all the problems he didn’t want to face if he was further away from them, right? That seemed logical to him. He was still stoned, the mixture of pills and weed left him feeling numb and floaty and he liked it, honestly. To make himself presentable he would shower again to wash away the smell of weed and get dressed into something that is half decent, but not too fancy. Tony has no idea if leaving the tower will help or make this whole situation worse if it could get worse. 

  
  


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It was like he found rock bottom, thought it wasn’t low enough for him and slid right under it. And that was four days ago. Each night he had been out since leaving had gotten worse and worse, more booze and more drugs,  _ more more more.  _ Maybe he shouldn’t have left the tower, should’ve opened the door for Peter and let himself crumble into familiar arms. He thinks about that often. If he did that then he wouldn’t be so fucking messed up and far from home. Although it doesn’t feel like home anymore. He doesn’t have Malibu, either. Refuses to go back to the family mansion, for obvious reasons. Time overseas could do him some good instead. Soak up the history in Amsterdam for a while. Lounge on a beach somewhere in Greece. Far away from anyone or anything that reminds him of all the misery that has led to this. What’s  _ this  _ exactly, you might ask? Higher than he’s ever been in a long time, in a club, in the sleaziest part of town. It’s so late the sun is going to coming up soon and he feels like he could pass the fuck out if he takes one more bump of  _ anything  _ but he’s never had self control in these states - he wants to push his limits now.

His body felt dirty, having gotten on his knees in a bathroom stall with a guy after they’d done a line of coke together. There might have possibly been another guy after that, he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure when he last showered either, to be honest. It was hot and stuffy in the club and he smelled of sex, sweat and alcohol and while he wanted fresh air, he didn’t want to move off the dancefloor. There was no doubt he was going to wake up with feet that ached like hell and bruises all over his legs in some strangers house or motel room. Again. Tony knew he could be found if they (his  _ team?  _ Can’t call them that anymore) really tried, he didn’t think anyone would really try. Not for a while, not for another couple of days, not until they truly  _ needed _ something from him or worried about the bad publicity this would bring, has probably already started to bring. Whoops. Pepper would be embarrassed but she’d make it disappear regardless. Someone was pushing another drink into his hand and he took it willingly, downing it in one go and handing the empty glass back. He was almost fucked up enough to not think about anything at all, his fucking  _ favourite _ way to be. 

There’s a man dancing with him now, probably the one that gave him the drink and he welcomes the distraction of a body pressed up against him. He could feel the beat of the music in his chest and he grabs the other man's face, pulling it towards him so he can press their lips together. It’s messy and chaotic, just how he feels and he revels in it, moans into it. The man pulls away to yell in his ear about taking it elsewhere and he lets himself be pulled back towards the toilets for the second (third? fourth?) time tonight, head spinning with alcohol and physical contact, his body on fire from where they were connected on the dance floor. 

Before they’re caught up in the sexual  _ need  _ that they both feel, Tony offers the other guy a bump even though his body is telling him to slow down, to stop but the man in front of him nods and that’s all Tony needs to indulge himself once more. His body feels sluggish and slow as he tries his best to pour some fine white powder, from one of the baggies he took before fleeing the tower, onto the back of his hand. Everything was slowing around him and blurry and he wonders if there was something in that drink from earlier. He pushed through it anyway, watching as the unnamed man across from him leaned down to his hand to snort away one of the lines he’d manage to tip out. Tony copied his movements even though it made him feel dizzy. 

The man pushed him up against the stall door the second he was finished and Tony couldn’t do anything except let him, head banging against the locked door behind him, his eyes rolling into the back on his head briefly. “Did you drug me?” Tony's words were slurred yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel worried about the situation he was in, part of him knowing it was his own fault anyway.

“I wouldn’t have if I had known how easy it would be to get you like this,” the man's voice was slightly muffled since he was pressed up against Tony’s neck, breath hot and Tony wished he could stand up by himself and go back to the dancefloor, back to not  _ feeling  _ anything. He squeezed his eyes shut and let a set of hands run down his chest, straight to his pants. Tony didn’t even have a hard-on. How could he right now? “Come on Stark, show me a good time,” the voice was husky and sent a shiver down his spine.

It took a lot of effort to move his hands but he tried to get into his pockets, get his phone or  _ something  _ to try and get the fuck out of here. The phone fell from his pocket and onto the floor and before he knew it he was sliding down the door, the man removing himself from Tony to pick up the phone and stare at it. “What’s this then? You want me to capture this moment between us, pretty boy?” There was a hand in his hair, tugging it  _ hard  _ and Tony looked up to see his phone turned to him. Trying to scan his face to unlock it and there wasn’t anything he could do now, he knows, as he watches the screen open. Tony closes his eyes as he sways on the floor of the stall. He’s gone too far again, lost control of himself and  _ everything  _ around him. 

“Let’s send your friends something to talk about, how does that sound?” The man laughs and Tony’s eyes squeeze shut against the brightness that’s coming from his phone, the flash he realised and he tries to turn his head away from it. “Look at  _ Tony Stark,  _ the genius, the billionaire, high on coke and desperate for attention,” the man laughs and the hand in his hair tightens its grip, forcing him to face the bright light. “You should tell them how dirty you are, Tony, why don’t you tell them what you’ve been up to tonight?” His tone is menacing, mean and cruel and Tony wants to run away from it. He can’t get up off the floor. Even though they feel like heavy bricks he puts his arms up, trying to hide. 

“Stop, please,” Tony can barely manage to get the words out because all of this is making him want to throw up and die from humiliation. The light dies suddenly and Tony slumps back in relief, listening to the other man laughing down at him. The hand in his hair loosens. 

The phone is thrown in front of him on the floor and the man kneels down in front of him, pulling Tony towards him to speak into his ear, the drunken mechanic whimpering as he’s pulled. “You’re lucky I’m stopping there,” then he’s pushed out of the way so the other man can leave the stall and suddenly he’s alone, drugged more than he wants to be and unable to get his legs to function still. It takes all of his concentration to reach out for the phone on the floor in front of him and open the screen, trying to see the damage that has been done. 

Focusing his eyes was harder than he thought it would be, seeing two phones blurring in front of him until he closes his eyes and shakes his head, making himself dizzy for a moment. He bangs his head against the stall in frustration. He’s angry. At himself, at everyone. At that stupid fucking man for turning his night into a shit show so fucking quickly. The exhaustion from the nights of no sleep, fucking, drug use and drinking are catching up with him. He’s ashamed but unable to stop himself from this. Someone has to come and rip him away from this life or he’s going to let it kill him. He wants it to. Eyes closed, he reaches into his pocket slowly to find the little baggie from earlier in there. If he pushes his body over the limits, past what he knows he can handle, maybe it would make things easier for everyone. Including himself. It’s easy. 

Snort the powder, overdose, be free. He can’t help but give in to the temptation of it this time, everyone else be damned. He’s paid enough for this life now, surely. Before he purposefully pushed himself too far, he picked up his phone again. The determination gave him one last burst of energy to open his eyes, grab his phone and check his messages. That video had been sent to most of his contacts, all of his former teammates. Pepper. Rhodey. There was no need to watch it, he knew how terrible he looked. “Friday, unmute,” he forced himself to say into the phone even though he still felt the sting of betrayal when he thought of her. “Delete the video that was sent out and let me know how many people opened it,” 

“Should I call for assistance for you first, boss?” Her voice was small comfort to him, hurt feelings and all. 

Tony wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. “No, ’m fine, just delete it and tell me.” It was getting harder to talk and even harder to hold him up against the stall door. He wanted to pass out already but he had to know first. “Don’t wanna be found,” he added, hoping she’d understand his last wishes. 

“Most of the avengers have seen the video, as well as Ms Potts, Rhodey and Happy.” If he wasn’t so fucked he’d hear the sadness in her artificial voice, the emotions that shouldn’t be so prominent in his creation. “Your phone is still in do not disturb mode, boss, but you have a rather large log of missed calls that don’t seem to be slowing down. It’s been removed and there’s no trace of it online.” 

With that, he put the phone down. He’s thankful he’s a billionaire genius that can invent technology to get him out of tricky situations. Yes, everyone he didn’t want to see it had seen it, but now it wasn’t on anyone's phone. Not even his. Brief slip up that he walked into thanks to his recklessness. He was running out of time, Rhodey and Pepper were probably working together to try and track him now. So, he did one of the most, if not  _ the most  _ reckless thing he could do. He chose selfishness, he chose greed. He chose a way out of all the uncomfortable and painful situations that were waiting for him. As carefully as he could in his current state, he closed the toilet lid in front of him and dragged himself closer so he could tip out the rest of the contents of the plastic bag that he shouldn’t have bought with him. That was his selfishness showing, his lack of care for anyone else except him when he gets like this. He wanted this  _ pain  _ to end so he tried his best to make sure it would. Snorting lines off a toilet lid wasn’t his classiest moment, although it hardly mattered given the circumstances. He did it anyway, then he stared at the ceiling above him for a few moments before everything went completely black. 

  
  


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Bright lights and pain everywhere greeted him when he woke up, knowing instantly he wasn’t dead if he was in this much pain. His brain couldn’t get much else together as he tried to keep his breathing somewhat even, which was proving to be very fucking difficult given the situation. There was a warm hand grabbing him and he recognised it was Rhodey almost instantly, a slight delay as he tried to process everything. Even if he wanted to say something, his throat was so dry he couldn’t possibly and Rhodey seemed to know that and he bought a small paper cup up to his lips. The room temperature water made him cough and sputter, but it was worth the relief he felt. Tony could feel Rhodey’s eyes on him, watching his every move. 

“I’ve been so worried about you Tones, please tell me what I can do to help you,” his best friend sounded so small and sad, whispered just loud enough for Tony to hear as they looked at each other. Rhodey looked so sad. 

“You’ve got sad eyes, Rhodes, I’m sorry I make you sad,” Tony’s rough voice whispered back, unable to respond to the please of his friend. He didn’t realise he was crying until he felt Rhodey’s hand wipe away the wetness on his cheek. 

Rhodey put his forehead against Tony’s breathing in time with him. They both sounded broken, Tony holding back quiet sobs at the situation unfolding. “Let me in, Tony, we can fix this,” his friend, a soldier, partner in crime, begged him. It twisted at Tony’s heart. At his very being. 

He wasn’t sure if a laugh or a sob came out of him at those words, a mixture of both probably. “You can’t fix this, you can’t fix me. I wanted to die.” He doesn’t say the words to hurt the man that’s trying to be his light in the dark, yet they hurt him anyway. Tony heard it in the way Rhodey sucked his breath in, saw it in with the tears that finally spilled out of the other man as he pulled his face away from Tony’s. Finally, he was being honest with the darkness inside of him, unable to run from it anymore. “I can’t stop wanting to die, I don’t want to live with this pain anymore, you’ve gotta understand,” his voice is thick with emotions and tears, unable to stop them coming now. He was unravelled. “I hurt everyone I ever touch. Misery follows me, Rhodey, and I’ve had enough of it.” 

Rhodey was shaking his head as he tried to wipe his tears away. “Tony, I’d give my fucking life for you. I can’t afford to lose you. The world can’t afford to lose you. All these demons that haunt you, I promise we can figure them out. We can work through them together, please let us try,” he sounds so hurt and desperate to keep Tony here that it chokes the mechanic up even more and he struggles to reply. 

Nurses walk in before he gets a chance to open his mouth again, reading his charts and pressing buttons on the machine. Tony knows he must look disgusting, tears running down his face and a needle sticking out of his hand, a small oxygen tube running across his face so he could breathe easier. There must be huge bags under his eyes from however long it’s been since he’s been out. He hadn’t gotten around to asking, so caught up in the emotions of everything. Rhodey holds his hand tightly as doctors came in to see him, squeezing it whenever he thought Tony needed the added reassurance. Which he did. Tony wasn’t sure where he would go from here, where he  _ could  _ go from here. Probably shipped off for group therapy sessions, medications and shitty hospital food until he’s released on good behaviour. Like the last time, his drug use got too out of control. He squeezed back as best he could and weathered the storm with his best friend by his side. 

  
  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is. I did start writing a six months later chapter, but I'm not sure it'll ever see the light of day. I have a feeling this won't be my most popular fanfic (not that I have a ton of fics posted) cause it's so dark and gritty, but it's been stuck in my head. I love Tony Stark angst. I am not sorry about it. Felt right to end it here, didn't want to force a completely sappy ending out. Let me know it you enjoyed it, it was a labour of love. And pain. But mainly love.

**Author's Note:**

> Hellllooo. Back with another angsty fanfic. The second chapter is already written and will be posted in the next few days, but I wanted to break it up into two pieces since it only felt right. Enjoy this terribly sad fanfic that has been living in my head for the past few weeks. The timeline may be a bit weird but embrace it. This is Tony's world now. His sad, angsty world full of messed up shit. Hope you enjoy it, cause I enjoyed writing it.   
> Thanks for reading!   
> xx


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